


Self

by chordatequeen



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angel Satan, Obey Me Angel Event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chordatequeen/pseuds/chordatequeen
Summary: Satan faces the aftermath of losing a part of himself.
Kudos: 17





	Self

“Kindly stop that.”

An ember flickering. Something so trivial. The slurping of a drink. His words dripped with venom, sickly as molasses. 

The magic began wearing off over the course of dinner, slowly returning to himself. A wisp of smoke, a spark igniting. Requests taken too literally, a fork narrowly missing a reaching hand.

On exiting the castle grounds, the flames set ablaze. He returned to normal, as did his brothers. Silence. No one spoke on the way back to the house. The human stayed behind, offering to help the angels take the leftovers back to Purgatory Hall.

They understood. The brothers needed time to come back to themselves. 

Leftovers. A thing many wouldn’t think twice on. Something he never experienced at a dinner with all his brothers present. He hadn’t noticed just how… disturbing it felt until now. How all their behaviour was so inherently wrong.

It made his skin crawl. Feelings lost and feelings revealed without his consent, spoken in a haze of kicked up ashes from a dead fire. Extinguished by magic far greater than his own, no way to fight against it.

He retreated to his room, door locked tight. The crashes began. Books flying and wood snapping. 

It wasn’t deserved. 

Taking away the very thing that saw his creation. What he took as his own and worked to control, millennia of constant effort. And in the matter of hours it was gone. A calm he’d never known. An emptiness. Cold fingers grasping at the fires of his soul and putting them out with ease.

Was it truly that easy to take away such a huge part of his identity? One spell and he lost so much of himself. His stomach knotted, an ache deep and unsettling. 

He panted softly, claws retracting and tail curling around his leg, squeezing with a welcomed pressure. When did he enter demon form? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. What did was now he could. 

Sitting amongst the carnage, he frowned. It would take hours to straighten up, mending spells and careful placement. Not that he hadn’t done so many times before, and would do so many more.

He was Satan, Avatar of Wrath, and rage was part of him. Something he never denied. Something he never wanted taken away again. 

He was a fire never to be put out.


End file.
